


Sylkis

by autumnstwilight (sewohayami)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chocobos, Fluff, Gen, Hug Ignis Week, Hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 17:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewohayami/pseuds/autumnstwilight
Summary: Ignis (tries to) hug a chocobo.





	Sylkis

**Author's Note:**

> For Hug Ignis Week Day 5, "Animals". I really wish I could participate in this particular event more but I've been busy with a Big Bang. At least I managed this one silly idea.

“Yeah, there you go. Attaboy,” Noctis practically coos as the chocobo settles its head into his shoulder, and his hands ruffle the soft-looking feathers on the back of its neck. He’s always been a friend to animals. There’s a series of squeaks from the chocobo that Ignis can only interpret as sheer content. Yellow fluff sticks to Noctis’s shirt, and Ignis already knows he’s going to be washing that tonight to get the smell out, something like overripe vegetation, a combination of barnyard and forest floor.

The chocobo turns its head to one side and blinks its wide, round eyes. Noctis makes a noise that Ignis would definitely not refer to as a “giggle”. At least within earshot. Prompto snaps a flurry of photos, and the two of them turn to head for the store, Prompto practically squealing as he runs toward a rack of souvenir keychains and plush toys.

Ignis takes a surreptitious glance around. Gladio is off inspecting the caravan, kicking the tires. He looks at the nearest chocobo, and it looks back at him, head slightly tilted. He reaches up.

“Who’s a good birdie?”

The chocobo reels backward with a suddenness that makes him flinch away himself, and the sound it makes is something he’s only previously heard from a daemon dissolving into miasma. A light rain of spittle falls on his face as it hisses. Ignis throws up his hands in a gesture of surrender, then checks to make sure no one saw that. He clears his throat, then withdraws to the caravan.

* * *

“It’s cause you don’t blink.”

Noctis sits in an alleyway, stray cat balled in his lap.

“Pardon me?”

“Cats blink to show that they want to be friends. You’re not blinking enough.”

“I assure you that I blink precisely as often as I need to.”

“Yeah,” says Noctis, annoyed now. “That’s the problem. You gotta do it like–"

He picks up the cat with both hands around the barrel of its chest and holds it up to his face, then slowly and deliberately closes his eyelids. The cat blinks back. Noctis lowers it back into his lap, where it begins purring like it runs on a motor.

“See, it’s like saying, ‘Let’s be friends’.”

“I rather thought the tuna sashimi expressed that sentiment,” Ignis remarks, looking at a plate licked clean.

“Food only goes so far. You gotta communicate in a way they understand.” Noctis is now scratching behind the cat’s ears as it leans into him.

Ignis squats down in the alleyway next to him, reluctant to actually sit on the grimy concrete.

“I never thought that you would be lecturing me on diplomacy.” He reaches out and the cat sniffs his fingers, probably searching for more tuna. It acquiesces to his offered chin scratches, but clearly prefers Noctis’s attentions.

* * *

They return dusty, smoky, and smelling faintly of behemoth and gasoline. The chocobos at the Post are clearly more at ease now that Deadeye is no more. Prompto is down on hands and knees in the dirt chattering to some chocochicks, voice rising in pitch until it seems it might become inaudible. Noctis gives him a light kick in the rear as he walks past.

Ignis and Gladio report on the hunt to Wiz, and accept their reward. Prompto and Noctis return to the cafe area, and they decide on sandwiches for lunch. Ignis’s efforts to get Noctis to try the gyhsal chips go unrewarded. When he asks Wiz for updates on the area, he finds that they are expecting heavy rains in the afternoon and evening. Given that, and the mess of their clothing, they decide to take the caravan for another night.

The sky is beginning to grey, and the other guests have dispersed. Ignis stalks over to the chocobo enclosure, and approaches a bird cautiously. He keeps his gaze averted as he approaches, and makes sure to blink slowly as he looks up to meet the chocobo’s gaze. Its body language seems relaxed, just a slight tilt of the head in curiosity. He reaches out his arms.

The reaction is something he’s only seen in the early mornings from Noctis, after the third round of “five more minutes” when he yanks the covers off the bed. The chocobo recoils, squalling, and snaps its very large beak uncomfortably close to his face. Ignis retreats.

* * *

“Good gods, Gladio, what _ is _ that?”

Ignis replaces the stoppered bottle on the table with just enough caution to avoid shattering it and releasing the noxious contents.

“Garula piss.”

_ "I beg your pardon? _”

“Got a hunt coming up. The herds in the National Park need culling, and I’ve got a freezer chest that needs filling with steak.” Gladio sits beside a half-packed duffel bag and tent, polishing a sword almost as big and broad as he is. “That’s a scent for luring the males in. A little goes a long way, of course.”

“So it would seem.” Ignis pauses, and shakes his hands as if trying to remove the very idea of the substance. “I certainly hope you’re not going to apply that to yourself.”

“Hell no. Friend of mine spilled some once, took days to get it off. Everyone called him Pisshand in the meantime…” Gladio pauses to chuckle at the reminiscence. “Anyway, you put it on the ground or in a bush or something.”

Ignis wrinkles his nose. 

“And this works?”

“Usually, yeah.” Ignis realizes too late that he’s activated Gladio’s instructor mode. “So you can lure beasts in with one of a few things, sex, food and territory. We’re going during rut season, so the males will respond to a female scent. Other times of the year, you can use a male scent to set of their territorial defenses. Or, if you’d rather not risk them getting aggressive, food’s always an option. Doesn’t smell as strong though, so you’ve gotta set it up when you’re already close to the herd.”

“Is that what the vegetables are for?” Ignis tilts his head at a crate in the corner.

“Mm, well you could use those. They’re sylkis greens, for the chocobos. Gonna need to keep their stamina up. But some people use them as bait too. Lots of herbivores like ‘em. Hell, you can eat them yourself if you really want.”

Ignis inspects the greens. They have a lingering, astringent scent that is stronger than most plants, yet pales next to Gladio’s other methods of attracting his quarry. Probably bitter, but perhaps paired with… He snaps his fingers.

“Yeah, I dared Noct to try one last time. He did, but said he’d rather choke himself to death than put anything that gross in his mouth ever again. Refrained from commenting on that.”

Ah well. It was too much to hope.

* * *

“Are you sure you captured a clear shot of it?” Ignis asks, as they leave Deadeye’s former stalking grounds for the second time that week.

“Dude,” says Prompto, imbuing that syllable with deep offense at the notion he could fail at a task that involved both chocobos and photography. “It’s me.”

“Take some for yourself?” Gladio ventures.

“Dude,” says Prompto, somehow managing to sound even more offended. “It’s _ me." _

In any case, the wild chocobo has fled, and now all there is to do is take the photos of it to Wiz. They hike up the hill that leads back to the Post, dusty and sweaty, with the sun beating down on their backs. Wiz accepts the photos, and prepares a late lunch in thanks. It’s a towering monstrosity of a sandwich that requires all of Ignis’s tactical acumen to eat with dignity. Dignity that his companions seem not to share.

“Noct, you’re not gonna get every shred of lettuce out of there. Stop picking and eat.” Gladio growls the words through a mouthful of food.

“Ooh, can I steal your tomato slice?” asks Prompto, hand already on the tomato slice.

“G’ ahead,” mumbles Noctis through an extracted slice of ham. Ignis sighs, but no one appears to notice.

The prince decides to spend the afternoon racing chocobos. Ignis wins the first few rounds handily, and there’s a conspicuous lack of objection from the others when he excuses himself to the camper for budgeting and inventory duty. He sits on one of the chairs and scratches some figures in his notebook– the proceeds from the behemoth horn and meat should keep them comfortable for quite some time. Then he leans back and sighs. It’s still a little early to start on dinner. His eyes stray to the chocobos in their pens.

He sidles over to a basket holding various leaves and roots and appropriates some, then cautiously approaches the chocobo pens. The birds chirp and coo to each other, calm and carefree. Ignis reaches over the side railing of the first pen with a handful of greens, which he offers to the chocobo. It lets out an excited _ kweh _ and snatches the food from his hand, leaving him thankful he didn’t lose a finger.

There must have been a noise from the surroundings, because the chocobo pauses, a leaf drooping from the side of its beak, and watches, alert, before relaxing again moments later. Ignis reaches up and scratches the side of its neck and cheek. It leans into his touch, eyes half-closed in satisfaction. Emboldened by this success, he steps in front of the pen, and slowly reaches for the animal within.

“There’s a good bird. Good chocobo. Come here.”

The chocobo stretches up to full height and lets out a fearsome shriek. Too slow, Ignis reaches up to shield his face. The beak snaps shut, and he feels hot breath on his eyelids. The pain he was expecting doesn’t come, and when he opens his eyes, the setting sun glints off something in the chocobo’s beak.

“My glasses! You bloody great bastard of an animal! Come on– Give those–"

Ignis swipes at the air, but the chocobo seems to have grown six inches more neck than usual out of sheer impudence. It flaps wildly and Ignis is forced to take a step back. Somewhere over the commotion, he can hear laughter. So his dignity is to be stolen along with his vision. He turns.

“Having problems, Specs?” Noctis grins, leading by the reins a chocobo with several medals pinned to it.

“Nothing warranting royal attention,” Ignis responds. He moves to adjust his glasses in a casual gesture, and pokes himself solidly between the eyes. Ah. Right.

There’s a wheeze from Prompto’s direction, which quickly becomes a coughing fit.

“...hah...ah… Sorry Iggy.” Prompto hands the reins of his own chocobo to Noct, then makes his way to the pen. He scratches the bird on the side of the neck, moving his hand up as it leans in, until he’s ruffling the feathers on the side of its face. The chocobo makes a noise like a contented squeaky toy, and the glasses fall from its open beak into the muddied straw at its feet. Ignis immediately snatches them up, wiping the lenses on his shirt.

“You were trying to hug her, right?” says Prompto.

“I… Well… I was merely attempting to…” Ignis trails off, and then clears his throat.

“I think you scared her.”

“Excuse me?” He shoots an irritated glance up at the bird, now peeping happily.

“Well, y’know,” Prompto says, “Chocobos actually can’t see what’s in front of their own face too great. Their eyes point out to the side, watching out for behemoths and… whatever else eats them, I guess. So if something’s right here,” he stands about a pace and a half in front the bird to demonstrate, “they can get kinda jumpy. Particularly if it looks like a threat.”

“And I look like a threat?” Ignis says, somewhat dumbly.

“Guess so. You’ve seen them, right? They stick their crests up when they’re mad or surprised, or showing off. You stand in front of them, you’re all blurry, and then you lean forward. It looks like an attack.”

He’s annoyed to find that it makes sense. Sort of.

“So… just a moment… you’re saying that my _ hair _ is the issue here?”

“One way to find out,” grins Noct, gesturing towards the caravan. Ignis sighs and makes his way over. He wets his hands in the kitchen sink, then pats his hair down until it’s draped over his face, resisting the urge to push it out of his eyes. Then he reemerges.

“Come and give it another shot!” Prompto waves him over. Ignis would rather test this theory without an audience, but Noct and Gladio have already staked out seats in the cafe. Bloody spectators.

“Moment of truth,” he mutters, and reaches for the chocobo.

The bird coos and rests its great, warm head on his shoulder, nuzzling into him. Ignis chuckles despite himself, and runs his hands through the silky soft feathers on her neck. They really are just _ unfairly _ cute, he thinks, and immediately forgives all. Yellow fluff is clinging to his shirt and jacket. He’s going to smell like a barnyard for the rest of the evening.

He doesn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> Ignis also reminisces about Noct making him prepare fancy sashimi for an alley cat in "warmth" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/16540202) so I guess this is loosely set in the same timeline...


End file.
